The Yong Mans Vindication Against the Virgins Complaint. She raild against young Men in passion great, But he more mildely seems with her to treat. Young men are not so false as she would make them, Some Maids are full as bad, how ere you take them. To the Tune of, the Virgins Complaint, or Cupids Courtisie,
|
SWeet Virgin hath disdain
|
movd you to passion:
|
Neer to love man again,
|
but for the fashion.
|
Was your abuse so great,
|
beyond all measure:
|
That you can quite forget
|
to think of pleasure.
|
Though one false-hearted man
|
not to be named.
|
Made you look pale and wan,
|
must all be blamed:
|
As if scarce one were good
|
in a whole City,
|
Your peevish angry mood
|
I can but pity,
|
Men are not half so bad
|
as you would make them,
|
More Maidens may be had
|
if you forsake them:
|
Therefore I tell you plain,
|
be not disdainful
|
If Cupid shoot again,
|
youl finde it painful.
|
Young men had need beware,
|
lest they be taken,
|
And drawn into a snare,
|
and so forsaken:
|
Many maids prove untrue,
|
take it for certain,
|
Twill be too late to rue
|
of a bad bargain.
|
AB.B.C.DD.E.E.F.FG.HI.KKLLMN
|
N.O.P.Q.R.R.R.S.T.T.U.V.V.W.W.X.Y.ZZ&
|
MAidens false-hearted are,
|
I can report it:
|
Their craft they will not spare,
|
when they are courted:
|
Theyl bend unto your bowe,
|
their wits are nimble,
|
Its very heard to know
|
when they dissemble.
|
Theyl powder, prank, & paint,
|
with each new fangle;
|
Sometimes sit like a Saint,
|
for to intangle.
|
Their pretty wanton eyes
|
are so alluring,
|
Life and death in them lies,
|
killing and curing.
|
Their beautys like a charme,
|
lovers intrancing;
|
No man receives more harm,
|
then by their glancing.
|
Like Syrens they will sing,
|
their voices ravish;
|
They make the Ecchoes ring,
|
their tongues are lavish.
|
By such alluring baits
|
young men are taken,
|
And then it is their fates
|
to be forsaken:
|
For these inticing Girles
|
are so unconstant.
|
Theyre won and lost again
|
all in an instant,
|
I have experience had
|
of their false dealing,
|
Some of them are so bad
|
theyre not worth stealing:
|
If one in half a score
|
prove to be vertuous,
|
She shall have Suiters store,
|
her love is precious.
|
Now tell me which are best
|
young men or Maidens,
|
I think tis here confest
|
both have their failings:
|
Therefore be ruld by me,
|
scorn not a young man
|
Theres as much truth in him,
|
as in a woman.
|
Virgins take my advice,
|
be not disdainful;
|
Neither be coy and nice
|
squemish, nor scornful.
|
Tis but a pettish strain
|
for to love no man;
|
If ere you love again,
|
pray love a young man.
|
I am resolved now,
|
though some miscarry,
|
Ile have a Virgin too,
|
with her Ile marry.
|
From Love Ile not refrain,
|
though it be common:
|
But when I love again,
|
Ile love a woman.
|
|
|
|
|
|